Familiarity Over Uncertainty
by xXxBlackDahliaxXx
Summary: Harry is left broken when his past comes back to haunt him. Sheltering himself away within the comfort of Hogwarts, he begins an unlikely career as the new DATDA teacher. But can Harry work alongside a former Death Eater? And can he accept that the lines between friendship and rivalry sometimes overlap? (Rated M for later chapters. Drarry. Draco/Harry.)
1. Chapter 1

_This story was originally posted on my other account -_ SnowCrazy15 - _I have moved it to this account. I have NOT stolen this story._

 **Title:** Familiarity Over Uncertainty  
 **Disclaimer:** J.K Rowling and associates own these characters and universe. I am writing this for fun and make no profit from it.  
 **Pairing:** Future HP/DM with other canon pairings.  
 **Rating:** Rated M for swearing, violence, and sex.  
Content Notes: Torture, Death, Blood, Gore, Swearing, Injury, Pain, Comfort, Sex.  
 **Summary:** Harry cannot face the Wizarding World after reliving the most painful memories of his past and seeks shelter within the familiarity of Hogwarts. In a bid to stay, he begins an unlikely career as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He did not expect Draco Malfoy to be the new Potions Master, however. How can he forgive who Malfoy was and accept that the boy he once hated has changed? Can they find an uneasy alliance or will their dappled past always be a barrier between them? **Author's Notes:** So this story is kind of feeding my nostalgia of going back to Hogwarts, although approaching it through an adult's eyes. It will be a slow burn story because both Harry and Draco have some skeletons in the closet that they're not quite ready to face. There will (hopefully) be M-Rated content in later chapters. Please see my profile for updates on this story.

 **Familiarity Over Uncertainty**

Chapter One

"Calm yourself, Mr Potter."

Harry could feel the tension crackling in the room, along with a lick of his magic that made the window panes shudder warningly. The muscles in his jaw were so tight that they cried out, but he didn't grant them relief. Instead, he flopped unceremoniously onto the chair opposite the calm frame of Professor McGonagall –

Harry inwardly winced before correcting himself. _Headmistress_ McGonagall.

He sighed heavily and covered his eyes with his left hand whilst his right hand clung to his wand like a life-line. He could feel the crusted blood on his face and the slight bite of pain on his hip. He didn't doubt that he looked as bad as he felt.

"Now, Harry, tell me what happened."

Her soft yet commanding tone caused the Auror to look up instinctively as the horrors of the night flew past his open eyes. He could still feel the nails raking down his arm, hear the scream in his head…

A breeze stirred the air around them and he saw McGonagall shift in her chair. His attention was caught by the office he was in.

So much of it was familiar, and yet, so very different.

The office now occupied by Minerva hadn't changed much from the last time he was in there. Of course, some of Dumbledore's trinkets had been replaced with Minerva's, along with some portraits. They were all watching him ominously, and as he caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and white hair, he looked down. His hands wrapped around themselves as he fought down the rage barely contained under his skin.

"I… was betrayed," he breathed, his voice hoarse from screaming.

McGonagall's eyes softened and he felt a rush of affection for his former professor. She had always been nice to him, so much so that he considered her a branch in his somewhat twisted family tree.

Soft hands reached over and placed themselves on his forearm. He covered her lined fingers with his own but recoiled when he saw the blood and dirt smeared across them.

"Harry," she cooed, so lightly he barely heard her. Tears stung at his eyes and he forced himself to his feet, too restless and angry to let them show.

McGonagall didn't move, instead, she kept watching him with a neutral expression, although he could see the sympathy in her eyes.

"H – Harris, he… he sold me out. We were on this case for months. Some Necromancer was terrorising Muggles, bringing them from graves and trying to start some damn apocalypse. He was a slimy bastard and always seemed to be one step ahead of us. But it was all a fucking lie, just a bloody rouse to draw me out and away from the boundaries of the Ministry… Harris, he – he…"

The words caught in his throat and he choked back a sob. As his knees buckled, warmth and black robes enveloped him.

McGonagall's words were lost on him as he drowned in the memories.

Yes, the Necromancer had turned out to be a former Death Eater and had lured Harry to the same fucking graveyard he was in eleven years ago. He had been with Auror Katie Bell as his partner of four years, Luke Harris, had disappeared. Harry and Katie had been looking over his notes when an owl had swooped into his office bearing a letter and a button from the shirt Harris had been wearing the last time Harry had seen him. It was smeared in blood.

The letter had contained some threat or another, and fearing for Harris's life, Harry touched the button. Katie barely grabbed his arm before they were Portkeyed to that graveyard.

As soon as he saw it, Harry realised his mistake. But it was too late.

"Come on, Harry," soothed Minerva, slowly drawing him from the memories. He felt his throat stinging and his nose uncomfortably stuffed, signs that he had been crying. Part of his brain told him he should stop being such a baby, but everything was just too fresh.

He felt himself being guided across the floor, barely registering the direction before a flurry of activity caused him to look up.

Suddenly he was a teenager again, being rushed into the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey bristled at the sudden disturbance but stopped dead when she saw who was clutching to the Headmistress.

He barely heard her whisper his name before his legs failed him again. Sadly, he was no match for the two startled witches and crashed to the ground in an undignified lump.

 _"_ _Good timing, Potter."_

 _Harry spun his head around, searching for immediate danger. His wand swayed with him before finally falling on the figure before him._

 _"_ _Harris, everything alright?"_

 _But he wasn't alright. The maniacal smirk on his face didn't suit the man Harry had worked side-by-side with for four years. The usually pristine brown hair was sticking out wildly, his robes were torn and dirty. Chills rolled up Harry's spine before he heard the bark of a spell to his right. Katie was already rolling away, dodging Harris's hex._

 _But Harry was rooted to the spot. All he could see was the tombstone he had been imprisoned in all those years ago. He felt the bite of pain on his arm where he would forever bare the scar that brought Voldemort back to life. Now it was happening again. He was back again. The Dark fucker would never die. He was destined to be haunted by the vicious lunatic until the day he died. Harry felt the panic grab his throat and his lungs were being crushed._

 _Only a single cry brought him slamming back into reality._

 _"_ _Harry!"_

 _He spun on his heel just as Katie fell, brought down by a blue flash. He saw Harris send another hex her way and watched as she writhed in pain._

 _Then that smile was turned to him. In the second he should have acted, Harry didn't move. Harris didn't hesitate, stunning the Chosen One and sending him sprawling across the dirt._

 _Even though his body was paralysed, Harry could still see. But he wished what he saw was nothing but a nightmare. It felt like a nightmare, but the cold seeping into him from the muddy ground was too real._

 _Harris walked casually forward, almost sauntering. He knelt by the bound Saviour and snatched his wand up greedily._

 _"_ _Oh, Potter… this must be horrible for you, mustn't it? I could only imagine what it's like being brought here again. Oh, and isn't that the place dear old Diggory died?"_

 _Harry couldn't help but follow Harris's line of sight to where Katie lay. He felt anger flush his system, but all it did was colour his cheeks. Harris turned his spiteful gaze back to Harry, who could do nothing but glare._

 _"_ _I've got something to show you, Potter."_

 _Fear uncoiled in his stomach as Harris slowly reached the cuff of his shirt, rolling it up with a grin._

 _Harry's stomach dropped as he saw it. Dark and ugly against the skin, squirming in glee at his obvious distress. It was something he could never forget, nor would he want to. It branded people a traitor, a murderer, scum. And Harry couldn't believe how blind he had been._

 _Harris wore the Dark Mark._

"Shush, he's waking up. Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

The voice was like a rush of pure joy, ringing through him and drawing him quickly from the deep recesses of his mind. He opened his eyes and felt a faint smile tug at his lips.

"Hermione?"

The sight was so familiar it left him reeling. Hermione looking down at him, Ron leaning against the wall. The bright ceilings and a faint tang of medicine in the air. The crisp sheets. He could almost laugh.

Instead, Harry choked out a sob.

Hermione jumped forward and wound herself around his neck. He felt her shoulders being wracked with sobs and heard her babbling something incoherent into his neck. All he could do was hold her, squeezing the comfort from her and absorbing her strength. He felt a strong hand on his right shoulder and he knew Ron was there, offering his own strength. It was so ridiculous, lying in the Hospital Wing, being comforted by his best friends.

He never guessed it would ever happen again in his life. Just like he never expected to go back to that graveyard. It seemed like Fate was sneering at him, forcing him to relive his most bittersweet moments.

Harry gasped as he felt something catching him in the ribs. He frowned before Hermione pulled back, rubbing furiously at her ridiculously swollen belly.

Harry sniffed and gave her a small smile.

"He's got quite a kick," he said teasingly, although his voice was so rough and forced that he winced. Hermione smiled through her tears before looking down at her bump.

"She. We found out yesterday it's a girl."

Harry nodded as his eyes filled again. "That's amazing."

He turned to Ron whose eyes had gone suspiciously red, matching his flaming hair. Suddenly it was too much. Looking at Ron, he knew just how close he had come to losing everything.

A new wave of grief swept over him, and his friends were there again, lending their strength when words all but failed.

* * *

Ron and Hermione stayed with him, even when Pomfrey forced another sleeping potion down his gob. His dreams moulded together, forcing him to relive both horrendous experiences in the graveyard, one after the other until they moulded together and Harris was dancing around Voldemort.

Finally, he roused himself completely, unable to lie in his dosed-up state.

That was when Kingsley marched through the doors.

"Harry," he said apologetically, although he seemed uncomfortable. Harry had forced Hermione to go home, but she only did so when she made Ron promise to stay.

Ron was draped in a chair by his side, snoring loudly.

Harry nodded towards the other chair on his other side, which Kingsley looked at briefly but didn't take. Instead, he started pacing.

"Harry, I –"

"Did you get him? Did you get Harris?"

Kingsley's face darkened, but he nodded grimly. "Dementors got him. He's getting the Kiss."

Harry's one brief nod was all he had to convey his satisfaction. It was more mercy than the bastard deserved. Harry would have gladly flayed him alive.

"Katie's funeral is tomorrow if-"

Harry had to raise a hand to stop the man from talking because he couldn't find his voice. His tongue was heavy and his eyes burned, and it took all his strength to steady himself.

"I'm not coming back."

Kingsley started, staring at Harry as if he had confessed he was Voldemort.

"Harry, you cant just-"

"Oh yes, I fucking can. Don't you dare try and convince me back into that office. Don't you dare."

Harry's angered voice roused Ron from his sleep, leaving the redhead to look around blearily. He seemed to pick up on the immediate tension and drew his wand instinctively.

"What's going on?"

Kingsley turned to Ron as if noticing him for the first time.

"Potter's quitting."

Kingsley's tone was obviously seeking Ron's support in convincing Harry to stay with the Aurors, but Ron just nodded.

"Yeah. I don't blame him."

Harry shot his friend a grateful look before setting his icy gaze back to the Head Auror. But Kingsley wasn't done fighting.

"Harry, I know what happened was horrible but you can't just quit! What happened to the Saviour of the Wizarding World?"

Harry's face twisted into a sneer and there was a definite rush of magic in the air.

"He left when you let a Death Eater into the Aurors."

The insult stung and Harry saw a flash of anger in Kingsley's dark eyes.

"If you leave now, Potter, don't ever expect to be welcomed back."

Harry's look was all the confirmation the Head Auror needed. With a frustrated grunt, Kingsley turned and marched from the room. As soon as he saw the figure leave, Harry sagged into the mattress, suddenly overwhelmed.

The weight of Ron's hand on his shoulder was reassuring, and he let Ron's presence support him before a noise to his right drew his attention.

Harry's heart dropped as Ginny smiled at him sadly.

"Hello, Harry."

* * *

The wind billowed past him, soothing his heated skin as the sun bore down mercilessly. He glanced to the side where Ginny walked beside him silently.

Her hair was longer, almost past her shoulder blades and it was now lined with lighter tones of red. Her skin was now a becoming gold, spreading the freckles on her cheeks evenly and making her look even more beautiful. He felt his heart bounce uneasily inside him, but he stayed quiet, not knowing what to say.

The grounds of Hogwarts spread around him and he took a deep breath, feeling more settled than he had in days.

"So… how was Romania?"

She kept her eyes down as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Nice."

Harry felt himself sigh before looking out at the grounds again. They were walking slowly down the path that led to the lake, basking in the late summer sun. yet somehow, Harry felt a chill.

"Harry, I heard what happened."

His jaw tightened before he nodded curtly, not wanting to think about it.

"Are you… alright?"

He glanced upwards to see that she had stopped before him. Her eyes glittered, standing out like emeralds in the soft curves of her face. Her hair was windswept and he noticed that she had grown in the two years she had been away. The light white dress she wore hugged her comfortably and Harry was suddenly swept in a memory of a time when he craved comfort in her curved hips.

He looked away.

"I'm fine."

"Harry," she breathed, her tone touching his heart. Harry felt his resolve slip as he looked back up into her face. She hadn't changed. She was still his Ginny.

And for a moment, when his grief swept over him and he couldn't breathe, he let himself hold her like he used to. She was petite and warm and he could have so easily given into the breathy sighs. He felt her head angle in that familiar twist, and he knew that if he gave in he would be lost. So instead he stepped from her embrace, before being struck with a jolt of cold.

Ginny worried her lower lip but nodded as if she knew that she was pushing the boundaries.

So instead of talking about the horrors of his life, Harry steered the conversation to her adventures in Romania with Charlie and George. She talked about her brothers openly, but her features were marred with sadness when she mentioned George.

"He's… better. Learning to live with it."

Harry nodded and didn't stop her as she turned the conversation to Hermione. They talked about the pregnancy and even smiled when she gushed about the baby being a girl.

When they reached the lake, they found a space to sit. As the sun started to dip and Harry's head started to throb, Ginny got to her feet.

"Well, I should go."

He nodded and gave her a ghost of a smile. Before he could protest, Ginny leant up and gently kissed the corner of his mouth. Her eyes were sad as she ruffled his hair playfully.

"You'll be OK, Harry. You always are."

And even though the words should have been comforting, they left Harry feeling somewhat hollow.

* * *

"Yer been 'ere for two weeks now, 'Arry. What're yer going to do?"

Harry sighed before accepting the gargantuan mug from Hagrid. The hut smelled like it always did – wet dog, dirt and hay mixed with something sweet. He leant back in the chair, shrugging as Hagrid's bulk planted itself in the opposite chair.

"I don't know, Hagrid. I don't want to go back to London. Just thinking about it makes me…" He shrugged again.

Hagrid gave him a nod before taking a gulp of his tea. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the last of the summer heat.

Harry didn't know why he was still at Hogwarts. He didn't even really know why he had come in the first place. As soon as the Aurors had come to the graveyard, it had been too late to save Katie and Harry wasn't much better. When he saw Harris on his knees, he Apparated to the first place that came to mind.

Only when he looked up at the eagle statue guarding the stairs did he know where he was. The wards protecting Hogwarts were ringing loudly at his intrusion and he had been momentarily thrown. Then McGonagall was there and he was being ushered up the stairs to her office.

Harry took a calming gulp of the tea. It was sweet and had a hint of something that he couldn't quite place. Lavender? Jasmine?

"I quit my job."

Hagrid didn't look surprised as he regarded him. He just nodded, as if it was expected. The patient look under the bushy beard was a little unnerving, but then seeing Hagrid with silver streaks in his hair was unnerving. Harry still couldn't believe that it had been six years since Hogwarts was the centre of a war. Part of him had vowed never to return. There was too much death, too many memories. And yet, here he was.

He was damned to loathe and love the castle with every inch of his being.

And even at twenty-six years old, Harry was hiding in the school's embrace, almost as if he had never left.

Then, as if by some divine intervention, an idea came to his mind. He chugged his tea and muttered something incoherent to the Magical Creature's teacher before bolting from the hut and towards the towering walls that may hold the answer to Harry's longing.

* * *

"So you're saying that you want to stay?"

Harry nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists in quick succession. Now that he had voiced his idea out loud, the weight of their foolishness pressed on him.

"And do what, exactly?" asked the Headmistress calmly.

He shrugged. "Teaching, assisting – hell, I'll even help Filch."

That got a small smile from her, easing Harry's anxiety somewhat. Then her face dropped and hardened, and Harry felt his stomach sink.

"Harry…"

He watched her hopefully, attempting not to make himself look as desperate as he felt.

He didn't want to leave. Being back in the school's embrace, smelling the familiar scents, hearing the natural hum of magic in the walls, it was everything he wanted. Hogwarts had always felt like home, and only being away had made that realisation possible.

Maybe he was hiding from his life, but he'd be damned if he didn't think he deserved a little hiding.

He heard a small sigh from Minerva before she turned her stern look on him. Harry smiled as he saw the familiar lightening of her eyes, the small quip of her lips. He recognised that look.

"Fine. In all honesty, Neville is an atrocious Defence teacher and he's been edging towards the Herbology position for months now. All I have to do is try and get Poppy to share the position since 'retirement' isn't in her vocabulary."

Harry's smile cracked his jaw. Before he could really think about it, he had thrown himself at the Headmistress.

Minerva tolerated the attack for a brief moment before shooing him away.

She sat behind her desk, urging him to take the opposing seat, her face set for a serious business transition.

"Although teaching at this school isn't what it appears, Mr Potter. You have to know your subject through and through, learn to devise and plan lessons and homework. You need to be as dedicated to this job unlike any other. Are you prepared for that?"

Her eyes were serious, but Harry nodded. He was no stranger to complete devotion, a notion that apparently wasn't lost on the Ministry.

Minerva's eyes searched his for a moment before deciding something. She turned to the portrait to her immediate left. It was a rather portly woman who was sat at a table, drinking tea and talking to the dog by her ankle.

"Geneva, will you please get the potions master?"

The woman got resolutely to her feet before disappearing from the frame.

Harry studied her openly. He had wondered who the next potions master would be but decided that no one would be as ruthless or as thorough as Snape. Harry both recoiled and warmed to the memory.

That was until the door to the office swung open and a figure clad in black swooped in like a predator.

"Minerva, I told you that the potion wouldn't be-"

Their eyes locked and Harry felt his heart hit his ass.

"Potter?"

Harry set his jaw into a sneer. "Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"This is utterly ridiculous."

Harry silently agreed as his heavy footsteps dragged him ever slower to his unmistakable doom. He let his eyes shoot daggers into Malfoy's back as they walked, hoping that the blond twit felt the scrutiny.

He looked similar to the boy he had glimpsed six years ago, and yet completely different. Malfoy's hair wasn't slicked back but hung loosely, coming short at his ears. He still walked with that damned Slytherin arrogance and his face still held that disdainful grimace. But again, something was slightly off about him.

"Your eyes are burning a hole in my skull, Potter. Please refrain from glaring."

Harry narrowed his eyes but turned his attention away from the menace.

He felt himself start as he noticed just how far into the dungeons that they had come. No doubt Malfoy was taking him to the lowest part of the castle so that he could kill him and dispose of Harry's body whilst claiming that he just got lost and died of starvation.

"Wow, hear those wheels turning," muttered the blond before stopping abruptly and throwing open a seemingly random door.

The potions master gestured impatiently for Harry to enter, which he reluctantly did.

It appeared to be a small office, dimly lit by sconces on the wall that had a surreal green tint to them. The back walls were brimming with shelves and potions while a desk sat just in front. It was a smooth wood, dark, and yet somehow out of sorts. On the top were neat stacks of books and scrolls, a quill and inkpot, and other bits and bobs he didn't quite understand.

To the right of the room was a small brewing area, consisting of a multitude of contraptions that Harry didn't have the first clue of what they were for.

Malfoy closed the door with a defining thump and stalked to the chair behind the desk. With one quick flick of his wrist, a chair appeared. Harry hissed. A heavy chair.

He glowered at Malfoy as he dislodged his foot from under one of the legs. Malfoy feigned ignorance, clearing some of the clutter on the desk by graciously scooping it into a drawer.

"Now, Potter. Oh, do sit down instead of hovering like the blithering idiot you are."

The insult wasn't particularly stinging, and for some twisted reason, it broke the tension in his shoulders. Familiarity over uncertainty, it seemed.

Harry sat.

For long, tense minutes, the two of them openly glared at each other. Well, Harry glared, Malfoy chose an indifferent look. Harry couldn't quite place the glint in the blonde's bright eyes, but it definitely unnerved him.

Finally, Malfoy sighed.

"So you're wanting to be a teacher?"

Harry bit back a remark and just nodded.

"Well it's not easy, I'll tell you that."

Harry felt his eye twitch as he took in Malfoy's tone. He couldn't quite place it. He kept his mouth shut while he continued to study the man before him. Was Malfoy trying to be… nice?

"What?" he finally demanded, looking into Harry's eyes.

"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "Just trying to figure it out."

"Figure what out?" snapped Malfoy. Harry smirked, feeling surer in himself now he knew Malfoy was still the prat he once knew.

"Your ploy."

Malfoy sighed heavily as if he was dealing with an insubordinate child.

"What ploy?"

"This ploy," said the ex-Auror, gesturing to the office. Malfoy gave him an impatient sneer and Harry found himself wanting to grin.

"What the hell are you on about, Potter?"

Harry leant forward in his chair.

"Just trying to figure out what a Death Eater is doing sitting pretty in a place supposedly despised by purebloods."

He saw Malfoy visibly wince at the mention of his former status before his eyes turned to steel.

Harry wasn't finished.

"Keeping your enemies close, Malfoy? Making sure you've got the inside scoop if things take a favourable turn?"

Harry felt his bitterness arise as he remembered being back in that graveyard. Seeing those Death Eaters appearing again, summoned in a circle. Was Malfoy there? He knew that some of them got away.

"No." The one word was like an icicle to the face and Harry smiled nastily.

"Sure. Whatever you say. For the life of me, I have no idea why McGonagall would hire the likes of you."

Something flittered over Malfoy's sharp features before a look of utter hatred burned in his eyes. Harry suddenly got the itch to reach for his wand. He watched as Malfoy seemed to reel himself in and compose himself again.

He stood in one fluid motion, walking briskly to the door and opening it.

"I see that this was pointless. Leave, Potter."

The blonde's voice was hollow and the sound rang in Harry's chest. He didn't let it touch the anger he still felt towards Malfoy and his kind. They were scum, all of them, and he would never have anything to do with them again.

Harry got to his feet so quickly that the chair was knocked over. Without another glance at the cold grey eyes, he turned on his heel and stormed into the corridor.

* * *

Draco slammed the door and was satisfied at the echoing crack that ricocheted around his small office.

What a complete and utter twat! How dare he come into Draco's office and treat him like a common criminal? And that burning intensity in his eyes… that was new. Draco had never seen that level of hatred in Potter's eyes, even when the Dark Lord came back.

At the thought of him, Draco's Dark Mark itched against his skin.

He ground his jaw and rubbed the Mark, letting his anger swell within him. He sat himself down in the chair heavily and winced as a jolt of pain slivered up his spine. He chastised himself while rubbing smoothly.

Damn it all.

Potter wasn't exactly the vision he had expected when he answered McGonagall's summons.

But he kept to his word. He went there. He was polite. He was even going to offer Potter a drink before the bastard turned on him like a bloody viper. Draco shuddered as those eyes came back to mind.

There was no Virtuous Chosen One left in Potter now.

Something had changed, something broken. Draco knew that look. He'd seen it on his father's face the day he was finally undone.

It was the day that Lucius had killed Draco's mother. The day he broke Draco's back.

A wave of nausea hit him and Draco had to summon all of his Slytherin training to bring his emotions back under control. It was something that he thought he had down to a T. Until fucking Potter showed up.

Seeing that stupid mop of black hair and those burning green eyes again… it dug up memories thought he had buried. The war was over. Draco had managed to drag himself from the ashes and make a new life.

Draco scoped his office and wondered on the fact that he had been there for four years now. It was what he referred to as home now, despite the drabble he had to work with. And now Potter had joined the ranks.

He groaned before summoning a house-elf for tea.

As he brought the china to his lips, Draco ignored the way the flimsy thing rattled against the saucer.

* * *

"I won't work with him."

McGonagall sighed before rubbing her forehead. Harry paced the office, his annoyance obvious in the way his heels dug into the carpet.

"Mr Potter, please. You'll burn out my new rug."

Harry caught himself and stopped, turning his attention to McGonagall. He grabbed the back of the chair he'd been offered and gripped it until his knuckles started to protest.

"Nor will my chairs thank you." Her protests fell on deaf ears as Harry continued his rant.

"What is he doing here, Professor? Sorry, Headmistress. Why is Malfoy working at Hogwarts?"

Minerva studied Harry's dark eyes for a moment before letting her shoulders slump slightly. She leant forward, gesturing again for Harry to sit. This time he did, although the way he fidgeted she could tell it was with great effort.

"Mr Malfoy has been a professor here for the past four years, Mr Potter. He's more than proven himself. Although my reasons are my own, and if you cannot respect my judgement than perhaps you're not as serious about this job as I thought."

Minerva suppressed a smile as she saw Harry's jaw set stubbornly.

"Fine. If there's one person I trust, it's you, Headmistress. But I don't have to like it."

This time she did smile.

"Very good. I can see you are no longer the boy you once were, Harry. I hope that you can find it in you to at least tolerate Draco, even if it's only professionally."

Harry nodded but didn't meet her eyes. There was a small flutter in her stomach at the prospect of Potter and Malfoy working together, but she hoped both of them had changed for the better.

"I believe you know Winky?"

Harry turned quickly, catching sight of the small house-elf standing by the door. She gave Harry a meek wave.

"She'll show you to your rooms. And Harry," she added as he got to his feet. He gave her a questioning glance. "Call me Minerva."

Harry smiled before bowing his head slightly. She watched as he followed Winky out of the office before breathing out a long breath.

If anything, this year was certainly not going to be boring.

* * *

"Mister Harry Potter is being a teacher here?"

Harry smiled sadly, nodding his head as the house-elf bobbed along next to him. He hadn't seen Winky in years, and guiltily realised he hadn't even thought about her after the war.

"So Mister Harry Potter is staying at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, I hope to. How are you, Winky? Are you happy at Hogwarts?"

She nodded, although her big eyes got a faraway look to them.

"Winky is missing Dobby, but Winky is liking Hogwarts. Winky is being better now she isn't drinking."

He chuckled lightly. "Good for you, Winky. I'm glad."

Winky looked up at him and gave him a small smile.

Harry followed the small house-elf through the castle and up to the west wings where he had never been before. He found himself surprised as he had never noticed the corridor that led through into the wing, even though he could remember going up the staircase when he was younger. Harry rubbed his forehead, deciding that he didn't even want to try and understand the intricacies of the castle. It would only drive him mad.

So instead he allowed himself to be led through the wing. Winky pointed out a slope that led to a small courtyard where 'the professors are going to relax'.

The walls were decorated with beautiful tapestries and landscape pictures, depicting scenes of serenity. He smirked, knowing that they probably helped the teachers keep their sanity when the students wreaked havoc on their patience. He decided that he liked this wing, probably because it was private and warm.

Finally, after a short climb up a spiral staircase, Harry stopped before a large wooden door. He held back a laugh as he saw 'Professor Harry Potter' sprawled neatly across the surface in gold letters. Well, apparently it was now official. He guessed that there would be so much more to it than that, but it was a start.

However, Harry wasn't ready for what greeted him as the door swung open. Not in the slightest.

"Winky… this can't possibly be all for me."

"These are being Mister Harry Potter's rooms, yes. It is what Winky is being told."

Harry let out the breath he was holding in one rush, looking at the room again and again and yet not believing it.

The door opened into a room that rivalled his whole flat. The centre of the room dipped a couple of steps, making a small living room. There were two couches, three armchairs and a small coffee table surrounding a huge fireplace. Bookshelves lined the back wall, along with grand windows and low hanging drapes. To his right was a small corridor and quick check showed a door at the end and one door to the side. To the left was a flat wall holding three doors, and then lead down to what he glimpsed was some kind of kitchen. He wandered inside, dazed, before following the right corridor.

The door at the end led to a huge bathroom. There were smaller windows on the walls and the centre was hollowed by a gigantic tub that was three times bigger than the prefect's tubs. There were two sinks on the far wall and a toilet in its own little cubicle. The door next to the bathroom was what he guessed a study, but the size of it made Harry dubious. It had another fireplace, but smaller. The walls were lined with bookcases which were nearly empty and it had set of drawers that were filled with parchment, ink, quills and empty journals. Harry swept his eyes around the room again, glad that the chair looked comfy as he had a sneaking suspicion that he would be spending an obscene amount of time there.

The other doors revealed a gigantic master bedroom with more couches, a bed big enough to easily fit six people on, wardrobes and drapes, with a small on suite bathroom. There was another small bedroom (although what he needed it for he wasn't sure), a balcony with a small table and chairs on it, a storage cupboard with a broom holder, and a small kitchen. Winky showed him how to use the stove as it was gas powered rather than electrical, and she showed him where all the dishes and utilities were kept.

"But if Mister Harry Potter is needing food, he is summoning Winky and Winky is bringing it to him."

He nodded his thanks at her determined tone, although he doubted that he'd call her for just a cup of tea.

As she waved her goodbye, Harry let out a tired sigh. He wondered over to the couch, which was a deep burgundy. He found it funny that the colour scheme was eerily similar to the Gryffindor Tower. Probably McGonagall's form of a joke.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Harry glanced over at the fireplace. He saw a small box on the mantle, and with another sigh, he got to his feet. Might as well get the worst over and done with, he thought, taking a handful of Floo powder and chucking it into the flames.

* * *

"There's nothing I can do, Headmistress. He doesn't want to listen to me."

Draco clasped his hands behind his back, suppressing the urge to squirm under McGonagall's piercing gaze. He had no reason to feel guilty, really. It wasn't his fault that Potter was a stubborn idiot.

She seemed to read this in his eyes before her shoulders slumped in defeat. She gave a casual wave to the chair, and Draco eyed it dubiously.

After a moment he sat but schooled his features so they didn't show his discomfort.

"Mr Potter has been through hell in the past couple of weeks, and now the _Prophet_ has just got wind of it. You'll no doubt see it in the papers in the morning."

Draco sneered. "It's not as if he's the only one that's suffered."

McGonagall's eyes got that soft, pitiful look in them and Draco had to turn away. He shifted in his chair which caused a twinge of pain to cut his lower back. He glared at his feet, knowing that McGonagall must have seen him wince. Well, he'd be damned if he'd take any pity from her. Or anyone.

"I know, Draco," she said softly. He sent his glare to her but was taken aback by her small smile. Draco snapped his mouth shut and turned his gaze downward again, hating the way he felt tears prick his eyes.

"Just give him time. He'll come around." Draco snorted.

"Sure he will. It's fine, Minerva. I'll try again in a day or two. Merlin knows Potter needs all the help he can get."

Minerva nodded and Draco got quickly to his feet, although he had to grab the chair to stop his knees from buckling. Recovering quickly, he gave the old professor a nod before marching from the office. He should probably get a pain potion in his system before it got too obvious.

He moved quickly to his office/lab, chugged a potent potion and then gave a small huff of relief as blissful numbness spread through his veins.

Draco rubbed his lower back, glad that it had stopped aching and then turned to his personal bookshelf. He studied the spines of the tomes before the edition he was after came to light. He grabbed it and flipped the cover, checking it was what he needed. Deciding that it would do, Draco started the gruelling task of navigating the castle.

Luckily the trek had gotten more familiar over the years. It was somehow different from when he was a student. Maybe because of the war, the battle. He had hated every minute of it. The school was always going to be a monument against the Dark Lord. It symbolised too much that was Harry Potter, but he had still been broken when he had to watch the walls crumble. He barely got a glimpse of it, but it was enough. He had defied the Dark Lord, lied to Death Eaters and no doubt had a price on his head. For a moment, he went to Hogwarts – to help, maybe. But then he realised that no one would fight beside him. He would be a target on both ends. So he had fled.

Draco gave a humourless smile.

How ironic then that he had chosen to come back. He didn't really have much of a choice, after the accident. Well, the _incident_.

He shuddered as the ghost of his memories swept through him, spiking him with imaginary pain. It was enough to cause his eyes to water and to set his bad mood off again. He stomped through the Staff Hallway until he finally found Potter's room.

Two quick raps and a scrambling later, the door was wrenched open – and Draco gasped.

Potter looked as if he had just woken up. His muggle t-shirt was rumbled and half tucked in, his jeans were riding low giving the blond a glimpse of blue boxers. Draco wrenched his eyes up and into Potter's face, which was an even worse mistake. He hadn't really looked at the Saviour since their little spat a couple of days ago. They had avoided each other like the plague.

When had Potter become… a man? His cheeks weren't puffy anymore. Now his chin was sharp and defined, his nose didn't look like a potato anymore but had a sleek curve to it. His hair was still a mess, sticking in all directions but it was longer and it swept over his eyes in some kind of graceful chaos. And his eyes. Dear Merlin, were they always so bright? Without his specs, they stood out like an emerald amongst stone.

For the first time in his life, Draco was completely and utterly speechless.

"What, Malfoy?"

Draco blinked. Potter's tone was clipped, and enough to bring him out of his momentary paralysis. He managed to school his features into what he hoped was a sneer before thrusting the book roughly into Potter's chest. He turned on his heel, not bothering to look back and see if he'd caught it or not.

As he made quick work of walking to his room, Draco closed the door quickly and then leant against the smooth wood. His cheeks felt hot, his breathing was fast.

"What the fuck was that?" he breathed, rubbing his face furiously.

Potter was _not_ attractive. Absolutely not. At all.

 _Fuck._


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** _Well, so... hello everyone. I have to say I'm so surprised at how many people liked and followed my little story! I didn't expect anyone to be interested in it at all if I'm being honest. So... thank you, everyone, I can't begin to explain how much it's surprised and humbled me. If you haven't visited my profile, then you won't know that I've been out of writing for a long, long time and am only just getting back to it. It's not coming especially easy, but it's coming, and I'm so thrilled that the story is coming out. So having people like my story well... it means the world. Please, if you enjoy this chapter let me know! This is the first long bit of prose I've done in years, so it might be a little clunky, but I hope it's still half decent. Please leave a review for me, for personal feedback, it would honestly give me such a boost and keep me writing more! But I'll shut up now - I hope you enjoy the next chapter and please check my profile for updates! ~ Dahlia_

Chapter Three

Harry examined the tome in his hands. The leather was worn, obviously well used. The spine was cracked, and it protested as he slowly opened the cover. His eyebrows hit his hairline when he read the title.

 _Advising, Teaching and Grading: A Guide to Enlightening the Young_.

Malfoy's name was sprawled across the top in what he thought was a ludicrously beautiful way. Who wrote like that, anyway?

Someone with personal calligraphy tutors. He snorted and shut the door, wondering back into his small living room. The chapter contents ranged through everything involving teaching. It went from how to talk to students, to how to instruct them critically and back through how to set and grade essays. He was impressed.

Then it was followed by a wave of guilt. He really had been an arse to Malfoy. Part of him just couldn't believe that the prat would help him, even under instruction to do so.

Maybe he really had changed?

Harry shook his head and sunk onto the couch. He'd been doing that most days, just mooching on the settee. It was easier than actually doing anything. The Prophet was hounding him for an interview about his last mission and 'where it all went wrong'. They'd been posting a load of trollop lately, speculating that Harry was somehow involved or that he wasn't telling people something.

That was true, though. He hadn't told people the whole story. But, how could he? How could he look into someone's eyes and tell them that he was a monster?

A new determination to be better burned behind his eyes, forcing him to scan the first page of the book.

By the time Winky appeared to serve him dinner, the book was open halfway. He uncurled and stretched like a cat, wincing as his back protested. Then, feeling more confident in himself, he tore into his steak and kidney pie.

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed quickly. Harry spent most of it in his room, reading, writing, learning. He didn't realise just how much bloody work there would be to become a teacher.

He had to plan different theory and practical lessons, essay topics and lesson plans. That wasn't even including different aspects of defence for different years. He found seventh years easiest to plan, mostly because they'd pretty much done everything else, so he just had to teach them the hardest spells. In the notes that Winky brought him from the previous teachers, Harry managed to make rough drafts of the lessons, and he smiled to himself when he found a few scraps of Lupin's notes. Then he felt the grief hit him in the stomach.

That night he owled Andromeda, asking to see Teddy. The boy was getting big.

A few days later, he got a knock at his door. Dragging on some kind of presentable clothing, Harry walked leisurely to the door and opened it before his jaw hit the stone floor.

"Hello, Harry."

"My God, Neville!"

Harry reached over and wrapped the lanky man in a tight hug, revelling in the familiarity of a recognisable face. He hadn't seen Neville in years. He ushered the man into his rooms, only to stop when Neville kicked his feet.

He stopped and turned to Neville with a quirked brow, to which the man smiled shyly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Sorry mate, I'm just coming by to say hello. We've just got back from Malta and Luna's waiting for me at her dad's."

Harry smiled politely, but he couldn't shake the sinking in his stomach. It would have been nice to catch up with the man, just to have a bit of company for a change. He had been busy over the past few weeks, but everyone needed a break. Hermione and Ron were busy with the baby coming in a couple of weeks, and he hadn't wanted to bother the Weasleys'. It was getting close to the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and, well… he knew they needed their space.

There wasn't really anyone else he wanted to talk to.

So, he'd been hiding – but he imagined the word of 'Professor' Harry Potter was getting around. And if Neville's knowing smile was anything to go by, he was dead on.

"I can't believe you're going to be a teacher," gushed Neville suddenly, like he'd been bursting to say it. Harry chuckled before nodding. turning and pointing to the front of his door and the gold letters sprawled over them.

"Name's on the door, means it's official."

Neville laughed freely, and Harry couldn't help but smile back. The man looked good. He'd gotten pretty gaunt for a while after the war, but he'd found solace in Luna and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a couple so happy. He adored her washy ways and she adored the goodness in him. Even if he did have 'an earful of wrackspurts'.

It only took a few moments, but the two professors sobered up and Neville turned to him with the saddened expression that Harry had been waiting for.

"So… you alright, Harry?"

Harry gave Neville a tight smile before he shifted uneasily from foot to foot, nodding sharply.

"I will be. I've been through worse."

Neville pursed his lips, his soft eyes turning glassy for a moment, but he nodded.

"Yeah… well, listen. Term starts in a couple of weeks and I know it's quite scary but if you like, I'll come back the week before and we can go through some stuff. Hey – why don't you come over for a roast on Sunday? I know Luna would love to see you."

Harry was still holding the doorframe and he glanced down, briefly regaining some composure, before he lifted his head with a small smile.

"That sounds great, Neville. I'd love to."

Neville's answering smile wasn't as big as his first, but it was genuine, and it meant a lot to the former Auror. The herbologist reached up and squeezed Harry's shoulder before he gave him one last lingering glance.

They said their goodbyes and Harry closed the door, sighing into the empty rooms.

He'd thought that he needed space away from people – and he had – but now he didn't want to feel quite so alone. He was more confident in his teaching plans, although he wasn't particularly prepared for the theory.

Deciding on a walk to clear his head, Harry shoved his feet into some shoes and grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders and starting the long walk towards Hagrid's hut.

* * *

Draco rolled his shoulders as his eyes fluttered closed for the hundredth time. The book laying flat in his palm had been sat open on page 223 for the past half an hour. He'd come out here to relax, to enjoy some late summer sunshine, but instead he'd just felt… off.

He hadn't spoken to Potter for weeks – and not like he'd ever openly admit it – but he'd been pointedly avoiding him.

The man never came to the great hall for meals, so he knew that was a safe place to go. Come to think about it, the Golden Prat didn't really come out of his rooms at all. He'd seen him a week back, walking down the empty halls with Minerva, but they'd both been so deep in their discussion that they hadn't noticed him turn sharply and go in the opposite direction.

It was quite pathetic, in all honesty. Draco didn't even really understand it.

Minerva had asked Draco to help Potter with acclimatizing to teaching, but the man had made it very clear that he didn't need, nor did he want Draco's help. He supposed, on some level, he could understand. They'd been rivals since day one, and with everything that happened in the war…

Draco shivered at the memories, but the movement only sent a jolt of pain up his spine and he jerked, the book falling out of his hands. The Potions Master opened his eyes and sent a glare on the sprawled leather-bound book on the ground by his foot, knowing that if he tried to move during a spasm like this then it would set his whole back out. All he could do was sit in his incompetence until the muscles finally gave in and relaxed.

Draco let out a harsh breath before he slowly, steadily reached forward and scooped up the book, unfolding a few bent pages and closing the cover with a soft thump.

Just as he was about to get up, a movement caught his peripheral vision and he glanced up, only to be caught off guard by what he saw.

Potter stood at the base of the small stone walkway that lead down from the east tower grounds and towards the pumpkin patch. He knew where the man was going, and he was surprised that Potter hadn't kept walking.

Instead, he was just standing there, looking rigid and surprised, staring. At Draco.

The Potions Master cocked one platinum eyebrow, and Potter lowered his head, looking like he was mumbling something to himself. Draco wanted to sneer at just how imbecilic the man looked, but he just couldn't muster it. Those were old habits that he'd long let go, and he would never prove that to anyone if he fell back into them so easily.

Instead, he continued to sit on the small, worn bench, watching Potter as much as he was watching Draco.

He was uncertain what Potter decided, but the man turned on his heel and started forward. Towards him.

Draco straightened his spine, feeling that sharp pulling again and he winced, inwardly cursing himself. There was no way that he would be able to get up with the spasm taking over him, again, but he quickly smoothed out his expression and watched Potter steadily as the man came to a stop in front of him.

"Malfoy."

Draco nodded his head slightly. "Potter."

There were a few heartbeats of incredibly awkward silence, where Potter seemed to be having an internal battle and Draco was waiting for the pain in his back to stop.

Finally, Potter heaved a great sigh.

"Look, I… I wanted to thank you for – for the book you gave me."

Draco felt his eyebrows go up a little, but he quickly squashed it down.

"Well considering I was asked by the Headmistress to aid you, your thanks should be with her."

Potter blinked, shaking his long dark fringe from his face. Draco caught a glimpse of those bright eyes before he turned away.

"Still. I appreciate it."

Draco drew his eyebrows together, setting his sharp eyes on the other. Potter no doubt felt some semblance of guilt for the way he'd been acting, and Draco wanted to make a smart comment about Gryffindor values, but he refrained.

"Then… you're welcome."

Potter looked up, surprised for some reason. He saw those green eyes flitting from side to side, clearly attempting to undo whatever farce he thought Draco to be playing and coming up short. Draco wanted to smirk smugly, but that would completely defeat the object.

Potter nodded, once, and then again, before he slowly turned and took a step away. Draco let a momentary flutter of pain pass over his features as he faced Potter's back but went rigid again as Potter turned almost immediately back to face him. Pain shot harder down his spine, and he knew he would be paying for his jerky movements later. But despite the pain, he was still a Malfoy. Malfoy's did not show weakness, even if he was trying to be… nicer.

"Listen, Malfoy –"

Draco would have snickered if he wasn't in so much pain at the look on Potter's face. Oh, it was _painful_ to see how awkward the man was around him, and how much he was kicking his feet at actually talking to him. Draco wasn't sure if something showed on his features, but Potter's eyes narrowed, and he got that godawful pout on his face like the first time he'd seen him in Minerva's office.

"Yes…?" prompted Draco after a few moments of silence.

Potter ground his teeth before he slumped, seemingly defeated.

"I don't suppose you've got more of those books, have you?"

Draco blinked, turning his head thoughtfully.

"Not… personally. I could recommend some to you. Why… are you having trouble, Potter?"

So, he couldn't resist adding a slight teasing to his tone as he asked the question, and just like the good old days, Potter rose to it like floo powder to the flames. His cheeks turned a dark pink and he narrowed his eyes. He could see a hissing fit right on the tip of Potter's tongue, and no matter how much fun it would be to rile him up like he used to – they had to get past this.

Draco raised a slender hand before the Golden Idiot could make a scene.

"Calm down, Potter," he said, rolling his eyes. "Still as hot-headed as ever, I see." Potter's eyes darkened, and Draco realised he wasn't helping the situation. "I shall visit the library on your behalf and see what I can find. I'll bring them to you later. Will that help?"

Potter was completely on the defensive, his shoulders squared, and Draco made sure he kept his face neutral – even friendly if it was possible.

The tense moments that followed were heavy, and Draco wanted to scoff. It was ridiculous, this stand-off they were having, with Potter fighting his temper and Draco trying to keep his features as open as he could. He wanted to fidget but didn't want to irritate his back. potter looked like he wanted to throw a couple of hexes. It was childish, and part of him just wanted them to be over this. They would never be great friends, but they at least had to come to some kind of alliance if they were going to be working together for the foreseeable future.

DATDA and potions were subjects that were quite intricately linked. A fighter was only as good as the spells they used, and sometimes in battle, there was need of potions. Healing tonics, enhancing brews, power poultices… Linking their subjects in some areas would benefit the students – although he hadn't mentioned this to Potter. He doubted anyone had, considering he seemed so on edge within himself, they probably didn't want to push him over. Hopefully, it was something he could suggest when Potter didn't look like he was expecting Draco to _avada kadavra_ him at any given moment.

"Okay," said Potter finally. Draco could see his shoulders had released some tension, but his eyes were still on full alert. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn't, instead just bowing his head in acknowledgement. Potter wasn't hanging around this time, grunting a little before he turned again on his heel, but this time disappeared down the walkway.

Draco let out a long sigh, bringing up a hand to rub his eyes. He had a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, and he knew he had to get something strong in his system right now otherwise he would be bed-bound for the next week.

Braving the spasm, Draco braced his hand on the back of the bench and heaved himself slowly to his feet. The shock of pain left him breathless as though he'd been punched in the gut. He groaned and doubled over, hand tightening on the bench and limbs trembling as he fought the wave of nausea that accompanied the pain. Merlin, he was pathetic.

Draco felt his lower lip tremble, but he breathed through it like Poppy had taught him.

It was fucking horrible, those few moments of pure agony – almost like he was reliving the whole thing again. _Pain in the chest from the brunt of the spell, colliding with the wall, feeling his body snap and crumble under his skin. No breath. No sight. Nothing but the pain._

He closed his eyes and waited.

Finally, _finally_ , it started to dim. The electric burning started to fade, and he could take a full breath. He could open his eyes. The bright green grass greeted him, not the broken and cracked marble of the manor floor. It anchored him, the sweet tang of flowers in the air and the soft breeze that ran against his flushed skin. It was enough.

Draco managed to reach into his pocket for his wand, and without moving anything but his arm, he Apparated right into his office. He gave a sharp grunt as he collided with his desk, but he braced himself against it.

Minerva had given him permission to Apparate inside the grounds for when he was completely immobilised.

Draco used his wand to unlock the trunk at the far end of the room and he _accioed_ a small phial of green liquid. He caught it with a wince, pulling out the cork with his teeth and chugging back the thick goo without any hesitation.

The pain potion worked almost immediately, sending waves of warmth down his muscles and to his very toes.

He moaned as his back muscles were forced to relax and the pain was drowned out by the strength of the potion. It left a coppery taste on his tongue and dried out his mouth, but he was used to it by now. Draco wanted to sit, but the dizziness that accompanied the potion was already coming over him and he knew if he tried to move then he would just collapse.

The potion, _Dolofortis_ , was usually only acquired by prescription as it was the strongest form of pain relief available in wizarding England. However, this was his own adaption of the brew considering no one in St Mungo's would see him, and he didn't want to use any of his father's old contacts. He'd found a medicinal recipe book in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts' library. It had the base of the potion and he'd kind of just added to it himself. No doubt he'd get fined if anyone knew he brewed his own painkiller, but he didn't really care. When it got like this there was no way to control it and no one would operate on him to fix his spine.

Draco felt his body sway even though his eyes were focused on a lop-sided stone in the wall. He could feel his head getting heavy, his limbs going limp. Draco raised his wand and muttered under his breath, transfiguring his chair into a small bed right by his legs. The potions master let go of his body and slumped onto the mattress in one awkward motion, curling around and onto his side.

Just an hour, to sleep off the initial effects of the potion. The was all he needed.

* * *

Draco moaned as he turned from his side onto his back, bracing for the pain… which didn't come. He sighed and reached up to brush his hair from his face. His wand was still taught in his right hand and as he opened his bleary eyes, he saw the soft green glow that his scones gave out.

He must have been asleep for a bit longer than an hour.

Although as he cast a _tempus_ charm, his silver eyes widened.

 _3:18 AM._

"Shit!"

Draco scrambled up and onto his feet, catching his foot between the transfigured bed and his desk. He collided heavily with the floor and groaned, still half-asleep.

"Stupid fucking thing," he grumbled, gathering himself and getting to his feet. No doubt Potter thought him full of shit, and he would have been half right at this point. Trying to show Potter that he had changed meant nothing if he practically ignored everything he said he would do.

The potion was still working, so he was able to get to the library fairly swiftly. The castle was eerily quiet and where that would have been scary for some, to Draco it was comforting. He waved his wand to light the candles in the great library before he made his way to the far back. The potions master didn't have the time to sort through everything, so he sliced his wand to the side. " _Accio doctrina librorum."_

Draco waited, listening to a few ruffles here and there until he saw a rush of something to his left. He barely managed a small yelp before he ducked, and a book went flying past his head. It hit the wall with a dusty thump and he frowned before a couple more suicidal tomes launched themselves near him. He clucked his tongue, inwardly chastising himself for putting so much strength into his spell.

Still muttering under his breath, Draco scooped up the books and gathered them in his arms before he started over towards the Teacher's Wing. He probably couldn't go knocking on Potter's door in the middle of the night, and no doubt the prat would have a few choice words for him.

He sighed wistfully before he stopped just outside Potter's door. As he leaned down to put the books by the door, he caught the flickering of soft light just under the crack. There was an odd moment when he was frozen, caught between knocking and walking.

It would be weird though, wouldn't it? Knocking on at 3 AM? Then again, he didn't want Potter to think him the smarmy git he used to be.

And wasn't that an odd desire?

Draco must have made some kind of noise – a grunt, a sigh, something – because as he was debating with himself, the door was wrenched open and soft candlelight streamed onto his hunched figure. The Potions Master looked up, his eyes a little wide, and his lips parted in surprise.

"Uh… good evening?"

Potter looked just as surprised as he did, and Draco could see from his rumpled appearance that he must have been asleep as well.

"Malfoy?" muttered Potter, his voice deep and slightly roughened by sleep. Draco felt his mouth go dry, and this time he wasn't entirely sure it was the potion.

The two of them just stood there – well, Malfoy bending there – for what felt like an age. He wasn't sure whether it was the surprise, the hour, or the semi-consciousness, but Potter's face seemed to… soften, a little, and he pushed the door wider.

"Do… you wanna... come in?"


End file.
